


warm.

by kalihiro



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Implied Character Death, mentions of torture, sylvain is held captive in an empire prison and being experimented on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25376764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalihiro/pseuds/kalihiro
Summary: Sylvain recalled that fateful day in his mind. An ambush left them all scattered and stunned, Sylvain finding himself alone in a clearing after gaining consciousness once more. He could hear the others in the distance, fighting the imperial troops that had surrounded them. He had rumors about these ambushes — special imperial soldiers would surround whole armies and kidnap the strong for their experiments.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	warm.

**Author's Note:**

> this was my piece from the sylvain zine, sincerity! it was really neat to see how much people enjoyed the zine, so i hope you guys enjoy this story! as mentioned in my introduction, i love to make sylvain suffer. 
> 
> please check out my bio on my twitter acct, @alphinavd ! and check out the zine twt, @sylvainzine !

He felt oddly calm, considering the fate that awaited him.

Sylvain ran his fingers along the damp stone of his cell. Rusted chains clinked along the ground, the echoes a haunting reminder of what was about to happen.

He didn't blame anyone. He was too exhausted to care about blame. All he cared about at this point was apologizing. To Dimitri, to Ingrid, to Felix…

He missed their days at the academy deeply; the days where they could laugh freely and mess around as they wished. The days where they weren't fighting an endless war or being held hostage for the Empire's experiments. The days where he could see the sun and feel its warmth… the feeling was nothing but a distant memory at this point. He wished, more so than anything, to be able to sit under it with everyone once more.

There was a man three or so cells down — Sylvain couldn't tell simply by ear — whose hoarse laugh sounded too much like Felix’s. Every time the man so much as chuckled, even though it was always immediately shut down by the guards, Sylvain was transported back 6 years. He was suddenly sitting in his room, Felix between his legs as he knelt on the floor in front of him. Sylvain had heard him make some offhand comment about liking Ingrid’s and Claude's braids, but he was far too embarrassed and had too much pride to ask either how to do it, so he settled on Sylvain a couple of times.

Why he'd pick him of all people remained a mystery, but it was a nice feeling nonetheless. His small smile of approval when Sylvain did it the first time was enough to make anybody's heart leap. Sylvain had helped Ingrid braid her hair a few times when they were younger, but his skills were nothing to bet on. Still, Felix wanted him to do it, so he agreed happily. Even using a few of his dates' hair to practice. The girls around the monastery were always more than happy to jump at the chance to have him play with their hair, though it'd gotten him a few scoldings when they realized he had an ulterior motive for doing so.

A shrill scream pulled Sylvain away from his thoughts and back into the nightmare that was his reality. Maybe it was because she was on the forefront of his mind, but some part of him thought it sounded like Ingrid.

He wondered what she'd say if she were here. She'd probably grab him by the collar, asking him why he was giving up. Why didn't he fight back more than he already had?

He knew he wouldn't be able to face her as he was right now. A knight of her caliber would laugh at how weak he looked. Almost a repeat of when he and Felix got into a real fight a few years back, the latter then refusing to even look at him.

They'd always fought, but it was never serious. After all, they had been friends since childhood. Why stick around with someone he hated for so long? That's what Sylvain thought, at least. But those few days of believing that his best friend really, truly hated him had been the worst. 

Ingrid had always been a voice of reason for the group. She was smart and kind, but also blunt enough to tell someone when they needed to pull their head out of their ass and get back on their feet. She had found Sylvain in the entrance hall one day, pulling him aside to knock some sense into him. She had done the same when he'd argued with Dimitri and even Ingrid herself. She was always there to ground them. She was always there for them.

Sylvain wished he had listened to her the day before he had gotten himself landed in here. But no amount of wishing could save him from the gallows. He was the idiot who'd ignored orders. He was the idiot who'd gone off on his own. And now he was the idiot paying for all of it.

There was more commotion further down, the sound of a cell opening but not shutting, allowing the imaginations of all those victim to these experiments to run wild. It was a fate that awaited them all. You either turn, fight back, or die trying.

Sylvain's eyes lazily followed the guards walking to and fro before his cell. He didn’t have the energy left in him to do much else. Days, weeks, months of this, perhaps. Being pulled from this prison for hours on end as they poked and prodded at every inch of his skin, slicing open this and that without anesthetic. Maybe it was everything he had suffered as a child or maybe he'd grown numb from years of battle, but the physical torture they put him through almost seemed like nothing but a minor inconvenience. It was the off-hand remarks about the red head's colleagues or hearing about the latest failure from Fhridiad that got to him. It was the sight of all the victims in their cells as he was dragged about; their tortured, exhausted faces rendered unrecognizable, allowing his mind to fill in the gaps. 

After a week or so, when he'd first been brought here, he thought the new man next door might have been Dimitri. Many sleepless nights left him privy to the man's ramblings. Though Sylvain had arrived before him, the Empire seemed much more keen on the beastly prisoner. He disappeared faster than the other's, Sylvain assuming the man had done as they had hoped and lost all humanity left in him.

A truly sad fate, were it Dimitri, but not entirely unexpected. The king had changed since they were younger. He had lost the sweet tone in his voice rather abruptly when Edelgard's actions were brought to light. Sylvain wished he had done more for him back then, wished he had done anything. Had he just extended a hand, allowed for a shoulder to cry on, mayhap he would not have continued down the path of corruption. 

Ashe had been the first to attempt to bring Dimitri back into the light after they had all been reunited. Many had believed their newly appointed leader to be dead; Those that didn’t had lost faith in his ability to rule. But not Ashe, never Ashe. Sylvain wondered if he would be afforded the same kindness in this situation. Would his friend — hardened to the world as he is, but still soft at the core — show him that same faith? He wanted to believe so.

Mercedes, Dedue, Annette, Flayn… All of them, so gentle, so kind. He hoped they would be on his side, that they wouldn't think less of him for being taken. After all, it wasn't his fault.

Sylvain recalled that fateful day in his mind. An ambush left them all scattered and stunned, Sylvain finding himself alone in a clearing after gaining consciousness once more. He could hear the others in the distance, fighting the imperial troops that had surrounded them. He had rumors about these bushes — special imperial soldiers would surround whole armies and kidnap the strong for their experiments. Were those true, Sylvain knew Dedue and Felix would be at the top of their lists, since neither of them knew when to drop their weapons. He couldn't allow that… he  _ wouldn't. _ If he didn't stop, if he drew enough of their attention, perhaps they would take him. After everything he had done, everything he had caused, this was his chance to prove himself. He would do anything for his friends. 

And so he fought. He fought and he fought and he  _ fought. _ And when he was too tired to carry on, he breathed in deep and continued anyways. Eventually he gave in, thinking that had had to be enough. Sylvain dropped his weapon, pretending to have deemed it better not to resist for the sake of hoping that the Empire would be satisfied and leave the others. Oh, how he hoped it had worked. That all of this had been for something.

The guards threw open the door to his cell, interrupting his thoughts one last time. One of them went to work unshackling Sylvain’s wrists, the other his ankles. They lifted him roughly, well aware their failure of an experiment couldn't stand on his own. He was to be disposed of. After all, allowing him to live was just taking up space in their prison of ever revolving victims.

Sylvain felt as if he was being paraded around — nothing more than a screw-up to display. The prisoners watched him; He could feel their eyes on him as he passed. A dozen pairs, all lifeless and empty, haunting him. The fogginess had not yet left him, leaving Sylvain’s mind to wander. If one were to look close enough, they would see the faces of their loved ones in these husks that were once full of life. Sylvain was sure he saw Annette glance at him, her beautiful orange hair now no better than a nest. The thought broke him; How someone could hurt a girl so soft and so kind was beyond him.

The voices of the guards gaded in and out of his ringing ears. He could only pick up bits and pieces as their voices tried to pass through their helmets and into his clouded mind. He was nothing more than a failed experiment, a piece of trash unable to turn. But, they couldn't risk him running away, what with his definitely not weak legs and all. They didn't want to leave anything to chance and allow him to expose what the empire was doing.

He was dragged outside a small, open area. The walls of the prison stood high, but, at the very least, Sylvain could see the sun. He could see it's light filtering through the only tree in the courtyard, shining down onto the gallows before him as if to mock him, telling him that this was his last stop. The last thing he would see before he died was blood, dirt, and a sea of bodies.

Corpses littered the courtyard, the bodies of the prisoners simply tossed aside after they had been taken care of. Sylvain was sure he could see Felix in the mix, perhaps even Mercedes next to him. They looked worn and haggard; even Mercedes' peaceful face looked exhausted. He caught sight of Felix's solemn expression, a tired smile being brought to his lips. Oh, to lie and rest with them one more time.

The guard's continued to drag Sylvain, paying little mind to him as his toes caught in the dirt, sending him lurching forward in their cold, steady grips. The tiny bones popped and cracked, but he felt nothing save for a small tingle. He almost wished he could feel them breaking; at least he would still feel alive that way.

The armored men spoke lowly to one another, issuing orders in some sort of code. They passed Sylvain along to the next pair, flinging him into their grasps like he was nothing but a broken doll being passed onto a new owner.

They guided him towards the gallows; the giant, wooden architecture towering over the courtyard. Those who had fallen victim to it lay in its shadow, Sylvain soon to be among them.

He wondered what he had done to earn such a torturous life. Being abused by his brother, being flung into a seemingly endless war, being stolen and broken and used… The only time he had ever felt happy, relieved, was back at the academy. Back when he could feel the softness of Felix's hair between his fingers, the warmth of Mercedes' hand as she'd comfort him, the feeling he'd get in his gut when Ashe would laugh… 

There was naught he could do now but accept the fate that had been handed to him. There was relief in that, almost. Everything he had suffered, everything he had done, all of it was soon to be forgotten. He would no longer be a burden to the ones he loved and he could see them, feel them, touch them again in his next life.

Despite the feel of the wood beneath his feet and the pain that coursed through his throat as he tried to speak, Sylvain felt at peace.

He felt…

"Warm."


End file.
